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» The Boss
Chav 0, Boss 1
I did time years ago in one of those dodgy finance companies a few years ago in the north west - the kind of place that makes Ocean Finance look like the paragon of business ethics.
The owner was (and probably still is) a complete gobshite, who delighted on getting coked out of his skull and then throwing his weight around the office. One of the poor sods who was working in the incoming call office got the sack once for walking in still wearing his hat and scarf one winter morning, which was enough to offend the glorious leaders Colombian enhanced sensibilities.
He had a grovelling lickspittle of a bloke managing a seperate department for him on the ground floor,called D, who delighted in playing the alpha male with everyone he could get away with, and demanding things as aggressively as possible from the IT department (which I'd ended up part of after a few months there). He called up one day in a blind panic, as 'all the computers have stopped working'. cue me and N, my colleague and the nicest most laid back guy you could wish to work with heading over to that side of the building. N has a bit of a poke around his pc, then sighs and looks at D. the conversation then goes something like this -
N - have you knocked any of the cables or unplugged anything?
D - no...
N - are you sure?
D - positive.
N - come on D, tell me the truth.
D - I havent touched anything.
N - ...
D - well... I plugged my mobile phone charger in...
turns out he'd unplugged the router for his floor (which true to form for this place, was just sat on the floor in a snake's nest of cat-5). mong.
My immediate boss however, was a bit of a legend and great to work for (we remained friends after I walked out and still are to this day). We all went out one night after work, which ended up with us having a bit of a lock in at a bar where he knew the owner. So well lubricated, we leave there and set off across town - the munchies have struck and my boss wants a pizza. On the way, we pass a club that at the time was chav heaven. And lo and behold, sat on the steps outside is a particularly outstanding specimen - shellsuit in a variety of eyebleedingly dayglo colours, (presumably) nicked trainers with those horrible rubber spring things on the heels and baseball cap perched at a silly angle on the back of it's head. And for whatever reason, he's got his arms tucked inside his top so it looks like he's got no arms.
'fuck me' says a very drunken and so slightly more observationally disadvantaged than usual tjn, 'that lads got no arms'.
to which I recieve the stunningly erudite response of him poking one of his hands out of his jacket, and giving me the finger. I laugh at him and keep walking, but my boss is a bit less than taken with this response to say the least. (I should also say that he's a 6"4 skinhead, as a bit of background.)
He tells this lad if he doesnt put his finger away, it's going to get broken.
To which our sartorially challenged (I mean, where do these silly twats get these clothes from for gods sake?) responds with 'f*** off... or I'll get so-and-so and so-and-so from inside the club and then you'll be sorry' - and reels off these names of his mates that presumably we were supposed to be intimidated by.
My boss isnt taking this lying down - he says 'Am I supposed to be worried? I grew up in bloody Belfast, you silly sod.' And then grabs hold of this lad by the foot and starts dragging him down the street. shellsuit boy cant get up because of the angle of his leg that my boss has hold off, and is sort of bouncing down the street. We get about ten yards down the pavement, and his trainer comes off in my boss's hand.
my boss then drops it on the floor... and promptly takes a wazz in it. shellsuit boy starts screeching that 'he's going to f***ing kill us', I'm crying laughing at this point - it's juvenile I know, but bloody funny if you've had a skinful as well.
We continue our way down the main road to the pizza shop, and after a few minutes I'm aware over the usual noise of traffic and punch ups over who's getting in first at the various taxi ranks we're passing, I can also hear someone shouting 'Im going to f***ing get you fat c**t... and you you bald tw*t...' and so I look around to see where it's coming from...
And see it's our friend from outside the club... about a hundred yards away, hopping after the two of us as fast as he can...
...clutching a trainer still steaming gently in the autumn air.
length? I didnt look to be honest. but great aim on my boss's part.
(Sun 21st Jun 2009, 17:05, More)
Chav 0, Boss 1
I did time years ago in one of those dodgy finance companies a few years ago in the north west - the kind of place that makes Ocean Finance look like the paragon of business ethics.
The owner was (and probably still is) a complete gobshite, who delighted on getting coked out of his skull and then throwing his weight around the office. One of the poor sods who was working in the incoming call office got the sack once for walking in still wearing his hat and scarf one winter morning, which was enough to offend the glorious leaders Colombian enhanced sensibilities.
He had a grovelling lickspittle of a bloke managing a seperate department for him on the ground floor,called D, who delighted in playing the alpha male with everyone he could get away with, and demanding things as aggressively as possible from the IT department (which I'd ended up part of after a few months there). He called up one day in a blind panic, as 'all the computers have stopped working'. cue me and N, my colleague and the nicest most laid back guy you could wish to work with heading over to that side of the building. N has a bit of a poke around his pc, then sighs and looks at D. the conversation then goes something like this -
N - have you knocked any of the cables or unplugged anything?
D - no...
N - are you sure?
D - positive.
N - come on D, tell me the truth.
D - I havent touched anything.
N - ...
D - well... I plugged my mobile phone charger in...
turns out he'd unplugged the router for his floor (which true to form for this place, was just sat on the floor in a snake's nest of cat-5). mong.
My immediate boss however, was a bit of a legend and great to work for (we remained friends after I walked out and still are to this day). We all went out one night after work, which ended up with us having a bit of a lock in at a bar where he knew the owner. So well lubricated, we leave there and set off across town - the munchies have struck and my boss wants a pizza. On the way, we pass a club that at the time was chav heaven. And lo and behold, sat on the steps outside is a particularly outstanding specimen - shellsuit in a variety of eyebleedingly dayglo colours, (presumably) nicked trainers with those horrible rubber spring things on the heels and baseball cap perched at a silly angle on the back of it's head. And for whatever reason, he's got his arms tucked inside his top so it looks like he's got no arms.
'fuck me' says a very drunken and so slightly more observationally disadvantaged than usual tjn, 'that lads got no arms'.
to which I recieve the stunningly erudite response of him poking one of his hands out of his jacket, and giving me the finger. I laugh at him and keep walking, but my boss is a bit less than taken with this response to say the least. (I should also say that he's a 6"4 skinhead, as a bit of background.)
He tells this lad if he doesnt put his finger away, it's going to get broken.
To which our sartorially challenged (I mean, where do these silly twats get these clothes from for gods sake?) responds with 'f*** off... or I'll get so-and-so and so-and-so from inside the club and then you'll be sorry' - and reels off these names of his mates that presumably we were supposed to be intimidated by.
My boss isnt taking this lying down - he says 'Am I supposed to be worried? I grew up in bloody Belfast, you silly sod.' And then grabs hold of this lad by the foot and starts dragging him down the street. shellsuit boy cant get up because of the angle of his leg that my boss has hold off, and is sort of bouncing down the street. We get about ten yards down the pavement, and his trainer comes off in my boss's hand.
my boss then drops it on the floor... and promptly takes a wazz in it. shellsuit boy starts screeching that 'he's going to f***ing kill us', I'm crying laughing at this point - it's juvenile I know, but bloody funny if you've had a skinful as well.
We continue our way down the main road to the pizza shop, and after a few minutes I'm aware over the usual noise of traffic and punch ups over who's getting in first at the various taxi ranks we're passing, I can also hear someone shouting 'Im going to f***ing get you fat c**t... and you you bald tw*t...' and so I look around to see where it's coming from...
And see it's our friend from outside the club... about a hundred yards away, hopping after the two of us as fast as he can...
...clutching a trainer still steaming gently in the autumn air.
length? I didnt look to be honest. but great aim on my boss's part.
(Sun 21st Jun 2009, 17:05, More)
» Driven to Madness
people who discuss x-factor
like it has any kind of value at all on any level whatsoever.
it's a bunch of mongs mong stood on stage pleading with that utter cunt cowell to sign me to a contract that an indentured slave in the 1800s would have looked down on and crying 'aw, but it's me life' when they almost inevitably get told by another talent vacuum they arent going any further and it's back to the fryers at Mickey D's for them.
it's a show conceived by twats, for twats, and watched by twats. it bears about as much relation to a genuine talent contest as a packet of mixed nuts does to Broadmoor.
(Sun 7th Oct 2012, 22:38, More)
people who discuss x-factor
like it has any kind of value at all on any level whatsoever.
it's a bunch of mongs mong stood on stage pleading with that utter cunt cowell to sign me to a contract that an indentured slave in the 1800s would have looked down on and crying 'aw, but it's me life' when they almost inevitably get told by another talent vacuum they arent going any further and it's back to the fryers at Mickey D's for them.
it's a show conceived by twats, for twats, and watched by twats. it bears about as much relation to a genuine talent contest as a packet of mixed nuts does to Broadmoor.
(Sun 7th Oct 2012, 22:38, More)
» Impulse buys
feeling the force... in Woolworths...
so I'm doing the shopping several years back, and I decide to take a swing through the then still trading crap emporium, Woolies, on the basis that you never know - I've found the odd bargain in there. but today... they had a big stack of THESE in -
and not just the cheap shitty ones, the really good Master Replicas ones - they make all the movie-correct noises when you swing them around (as I'm sure the SW fans here can tell you) and when you switch it on, the LED's in the blade light up in sequence, adding to the effect. regular price £100 ish? woolies only wanted a measly £45.
a bargain, thinks I. but the shop is full of people... they'll all know I'm a geek... stuff it. I am geek, hear me roar.
I strode purposefully up to the counter... well, alright, I shuffled towards it, head down, trying not to make any kind of eye contact with anyone else in the store... to be confronted by a particularly spotty little chav herbert doing the till duty. I'm braced for a sneer or a sarky comment at the very least... till he looks at me, motions me closer, and says 'they're bloody ace these things... the first thing we did when we got them in was go and have lightsaber battles all day in the storeroom. I spent all afternoon yesterday pretending to be Darth Vader.'
So either Star Wars transcends geekiness, or I'd met the only chav geek in Manchester.
(Fri 22nd May 2009, 18:15, More)
feeling the force... in Woolworths...
so I'm doing the shopping several years back, and I decide to take a swing through the then still trading crap emporium, Woolies, on the basis that you never know - I've found the odd bargain in there. but today... they had a big stack of THESE in -
and not just the cheap shitty ones, the really good Master Replicas ones - they make all the movie-correct noises when you swing them around (as I'm sure the SW fans here can tell you) and when you switch it on, the LED's in the blade light up in sequence, adding to the effect. regular price £100 ish? woolies only wanted a measly £45.
a bargain, thinks I. but the shop is full of people... they'll all know I'm a geek... stuff it. I am geek, hear me roar.
I strode purposefully up to the counter... well, alright, I shuffled towards it, head down, trying not to make any kind of eye contact with anyone else in the store... to be confronted by a particularly spotty little chav herbert doing the till duty. I'm braced for a sneer or a sarky comment at the very least... till he looks at me, motions me closer, and says 'they're bloody ace these things... the first thing we did when we got them in was go and have lightsaber battles all day in the storeroom. I spent all afternoon yesterday pretending to be Darth Vader.'
So either Star Wars transcends geekiness, or I'd met the only chav geek in Manchester.
(Fri 22nd May 2009, 18:15, More)
» I don't understand the attraction
/rant mode engaged
x-factor and other such shite - if I want to hear badly done karaoke, I'll go to a karaoke bar. until then, I'll stick to listening to artists who a. have something to say and b. have the talent to back it up.
heat/now/ok/hello/whatever z-list celeb magazines - jesus wept. the only time I ever imagine wanting to read these turgid piles of shite is when they're covering Peaches bleeding Geldof, Cheryl 'Ronseal' Cole and that Jordan creature being ceremonially fed into a woodchipper. slowly. feet first.
Madonna - silly, vastly overrated up her own arse bint with a lack of talent as vast as her opinion of her own intelligence seems to be.
Alan Carr - look, I get it, you're gay. Now go away you tedious bastard.
Peter Kay - fat unfunny cunt.
eastenders - good lord, how depressing is this programme? I've seen episodes of 'Auschwitz: The Nazis And The Final Solution' that were more pleasant.
going out for the sole pleasure of getting ten pints down me and then kicking seven bells out of someone for wearing glasses/looking a bit 'weird'/looking at my bird (delete as applicable)
the twats on the london underground that dont seem to realise you have to let people get **off** the tube before they can get on. trying to walk through me will not work. and standing in front of me staring and gawping wont make me get out of your way either. the tube will not leave without you - things will go far easier all round if you just stand to one side and show a bit of patience. you utter, utter cunts.
/rant mode disengaged.
But I'm sure there would be more if I stopped to think about it.
(Thu 22nd Oct 2009, 1:46, More)
/rant mode engaged
x-factor and other such shite - if I want to hear badly done karaoke, I'll go to a karaoke bar. until then, I'll stick to listening to artists who a. have something to say and b. have the talent to back it up.
heat/now/ok/hello/whatever z-list celeb magazines - jesus wept. the only time I ever imagine wanting to read these turgid piles of shite is when they're covering Peaches bleeding Geldof, Cheryl 'Ronseal' Cole and that Jordan creature being ceremonially fed into a woodchipper. slowly. feet first.
Madonna - silly, vastly overrated up her own arse bint with a lack of talent as vast as her opinion of her own intelligence seems to be.
Alan Carr - look, I get it, you're gay. Now go away you tedious bastard.
Peter Kay - fat unfunny cunt.
eastenders - good lord, how depressing is this programme? I've seen episodes of 'Auschwitz: The Nazis And The Final Solution' that were more pleasant.
going out for the sole pleasure of getting ten pints down me and then kicking seven bells out of someone for wearing glasses/looking a bit 'weird'/looking at my bird (delete as applicable)
the twats on the london underground that dont seem to realise you have to let people get **off** the tube before they can get on. trying to walk through me will not work. and standing in front of me staring and gawping wont make me get out of your way either. the tube will not leave without you - things will go far easier all round if you just stand to one side and show a bit of patience. you utter, utter cunts.
/rant mode disengaged.
But I'm sure there would be more if I stopped to think about it.
(Thu 22nd Oct 2009, 1:46, More)